George Orwell described writing a book to be “horrible”, in fact he said it was “like a long bout of some painful illness.” I’m not writing a book, I mostly just write these Slowpokes; should I consider them to be like short little shots of a painful illness? I don’t think so, although if I find myself staring at a blank screen on a Friday morning it does sometimes feel agonising.
Joan Didion said “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.” That is probably more in line with why I write - to make sense of things. And there’s always more room for improvement; I wish I was better at describing the sound of music alongside how it makes me feel. I find myself stumbling, a lack of technical musical vocabulary eludes me and diminishes my confidence.
I recently read a description of my favourite Carly Rae Jepson song and it was succinct, descriptive and yet also evocative - the song is about a crush, one of life’s best pleasure/pain scenarios. Warm Blood was number one in the Guardian’s ranking of best Carly Rae songs - I concur with this, but not so much with the rest of the list. I did consider typing up my own “best of” list, but no matter how much I believe you should be able to come and go as you please, I do still fear a mass exodus of subscribers.
Anyway, this is what Laura Snapes wrote about Warm Blood:
“The moment a crush becomes reality is rare and beautiful. Often, it simply never happens. If it does turn into a relationship, that moment of tingling anticipation can still only happen once. Here, Jepsen and Rostam precisely capture the feverishness of finally being so close to someone’s face, you can feel their breath. Their subtle rapture softens the arpeggiated judder of Robyn’s Call Your Girlfriend into a beat that rushes like adrenaline, the song’s body heat contrasting the parched desperation in Jepsen’s voice. It skips the cathartic peak of many of her hits to circle this precious feeling, willing it to last as long as possible.”
Maybe you have to love the song as much as I do, maybe you have to feel the way I do about crushes to really love that little paragraph as much as I do. I know it’s not poetry, but I do aspire to being able to capture the essence of a song in such a manner. But what is poetry anyway? The rules of language are always being re-written, sometimes in ways that I find jarring. The evolution of language is important, of course, but that doesn’t mean it’s not alarming, for example, when punctuation is disregarded entirely.
But if you’re keen to read some interesting poetry, I can recommend Sasha Debevec-McKenney’s Joy Is My Middle Name. Joy is my middle name, which is why I bought the book, but it’s excellent and thought provoking. It captures something about the confusing nature of being a woman in your thirties and realising that what you thought was being a grown up a few years ago was nothing close to what being a grown up has become. The pendulum swing between confusing awkwardness and overt confidence, of knowing yourself entirely and losing yourself entirely. It seems to me that Sasha also writes to make sense of things and doesn’t shy away from the messy parts.
I tend to let the messy parts out on the page, but edit them away before I get to the point where I hit publish. Not because I don’t think messiness has value, but because I already think that some weeks Slowpoke could be mistaken for my Livejournal and it’s probably best that I err on this side of letting my unhinged side show too much.
Ah, I have fallen into the trap of writing more about writing than writing about music, but it is an interesting thing to evaluate things every now and again. Why am I here, writing these words? Who’s reading, and what are your expectations of this place? I don’t really ‘hustle’ here - I very rarely even mention that a paid subscription is an option, I just think that if you are very determined to give me your money then you’ll find your way there of your own accord. I very much appreciate those who do have a paid subscription, of course, but your company is more important to me.
I may not be writing a book, but this is the 117th time I have hit publish on a Friday and sent my thoughts careening out into the world. That is discipline I didn’t know I possessed. Years ago when I worked at a university, part of my morning routine would be to read Richard Herring’s daily blog, Warming Up. He’s written that every day since November 2002. I can’t compete with that.
Whilst Richard is certainly prolific, his approach may not be for everybody. Last week, I answered a question about routine and its place in creativity. I do firmly believe that creativity is a muscle - one that you can build up or neglect as you wish. If you dedicate your time to it, you can build up that muscle, refining your skills as you go. And as a consequence it’s likely to make creativity and self-expression a necessary, non-negotiable part of your life.
Last night, I went to see Mohammad Syfkhan. He is a Kurdish/Syrian singer and bouzouki player who now lives in Ireland. He started a band back home in Syria, and when he was displaced by war and found himself far from home - in a place where he had to build a new home from scratch - music was an anchor for him. Music is an element of his life that seems to me to be a necessity, and along the way has served as a wonderful way for him to both integrate into his new home and stay connected to his past.
Last night, his performance was absolutely imbued with joyfulness. He dedicated a song to a man in the audience (and requested he dance!), because it was by an artist from the man’s home country of Iraq. People danced - some freely, some self-consciously (also a muscle a lot of us have to train, I sense) - and the room was dripping with sweat. Truly amazing. If you’d like to listen to his album, I Am Kurdish, click here. If you’d like to marvel at his snappy dressing, click here.
So, whilst sometimes writing a weekly missive can - I suppose, at a push - feel like a little shot of painful illness (especially this week when there are workmen ripping out and re-building my kitchen above my head), it also feels like a necessity for me. Maybe I could go a week or two without missing it too much, but beyond that, I think I’d start to feel quite lost.
I know it was a bit disjointed but that’s all for this week.
~Becky
Image shows Mohammad Syfkhan in Manchester, August 2025
There's a line in Steven Soderbergh's film "Kafka" that has always stuck with me. The beleaguered author simply declares: "I write by myself, for myself."